'Ding Dong'
What was that? There was no bell on his door. His eyes were closed, and the stool had only just passed the point of no return beneath his feet when the image of the tall, pretty black woman came to him. She was holding a tablet of some kind.
"Who are you?" How did you get in here?" She seemed so real and was looking at him, stirring a memory, long buried. He wanted to open his eyes to banish the vision, but he could not. She was inside his head, and a bolt of fear flashed across his mind.
An image appeared to him projected in space, and he knew she could see it too. It was as if they were watching a film together, this tall, attractive stranger who had emerged from his mind. He looked at the paused scene, a still life. His pulse lurched as he recognised the room. A tiny noise escaped him.
"You pathetic, stupid piece of shit." The woman said, no anger in her voice, just a contempt so thick he could taste it. "Hanging yourself. Seriously? It's going to take you a lifetime to die, and I'm going to be here to ensure your debts are all repaid."
"I beg your pardon." He was outraged. "Do not talk to me like that, young lady." He stared at her, the blue dress, her cleavage, her long, elegant legs. "Do I know you?"
"Sadly, yes. Let me remind you."
She tapped the tablet, and the scene began to play in this most claustrophobic, intimate cinema of his mind.
"Turn that off." His inner voice had a frightened edge.
She ignored him, and the image floated in front of them. There she was, in the film, this same woman in the blue dress walking into an office. A large desk, a long couch, an armchair, and a man sat at the desk with an old-fashioned phone to his ear.
"What the …" the man said quietly. "That's me, that's …"
In the scene, the woman walked across the room, and the man stood and indicated the sofa.
They shook hands
"Sit there, make yourself comfortable." He appraised her, openly staring carefully at her breasts and then sliding a hand down from her waist over her curved hip as one might a thoroughbred horse.
The woman froze, her alarm and discomfort filled the room, but failed to touch the man.
"Drink?" he asked, walking across to the cabinet at the far wall, where he poured himself a shot of Bourbon. He turned to see her shaking her head.
"I guess you've not done this before." He said. "You must have had other auditions."
"Well, yes, but …" Her nerves and fear stifled her response; her hands were jittery, moving without purpose.
"Why don't you let me get a better look at you, Gloria? Take off the dress, but keep your heels on.
"What, take off…"
"Yes, honey, lose the dress, I need to see what we're investing in."
"But I don't …"
"Do you want he job or don't you? You decide, if you do, take off the dress, if you don't, then get out, go back to being a waitress or whatever you do. But don't take too long." He took a mouthful of bourbon and waited.
The image stopped, hanging in space, a freeze frame, the choice after which her life would never be the same. Gabby willed her to say no, to walk, already knowing what had happened all those years ago. In the near darkness of his mind, there was just the sound of his heavy breathing.
"Remember me now?" Gloria asked quietly.
In the reflected light of the image, she could see him looking at her. Even now, he could not prevent himself from looking at her breasts.
"I don't understand, what do you want, where did you get this film?" He was no longer so sure of himself; metaphorically and physically off balance.
"It's your memory of what you did to me. Do I need to play it forward, do you need to see me remove the dress and then for you to put your fingers inside me and then to rape me. Shall we play that through?"
His lips were trembling; he could not respond.
"We could do, Gloria continued. I've played it over in my mind a million times, and I can tell you the shame, self-loathing, and disgust never fade. I tried to kill myself and failed. But a decent man saved me, and then I saved myself, so that you don't get to win."
"Honey, that's just the way it was back then, that's how it worked." Pleading soaked his words.
"Oh you piece of shit. Really!"
"The world's not always a nice place, I wasn't the only one."
"Ok, you lump of human excrement, it's time to repay the debt. That's my memory in your head, a piece of my soul, and I'm taking it back. When I do, you'll understand that memory is not a discrete thing, not an object. Your memory of me is tied to lots of your other memories. I don't need them or want them, but they will be taken too. Think of it as a tax for holding a piece of me all this time."
"What the fuck are you talking about you stupid bitch. Fuck off."
She smiled at him without a trace of kindness on her face and reached up to hold the top of the floating image. Now it was more than light, it had physical form and rippled like silk in her grasp. She felt the alarm flood into him. In the 'real' world, the rope tightened around his neck as the stool no longer supported him. His eyes suddenly widened, fear writ large, his mouth agape.
As she slowly began to pull the image, tearing the light, he screamed. "No, No, No!"
She continued to rip the memory from him, and his screams filled the room well after the image was folded into her hand and disappeared. She waited until there was only darkness and the soundtrack of his whimpering.
She let herself out.